


New Host, Who Dis?

by lemonfizzies



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Origin Story, i just literally couldn't let this idea go, tell me this isn't how John became the host
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfizzies/pseuds/lemonfizzies
Summary: coming at you live from the Eiffel Tower, [TBA]





	New Host, Who Dis?

Ears up, listeners, we're in quite the rush this morning.  
John Cameron, widely regarded as a sensible train wreck, has refused to take an afternoon railway, finding the short distance between the broadcasting center and the Eiffel Tower to be unworthy of the fare. As such, he's taken to hopping from road to alleyway to cart again, attempting to move across the large city at a somewhat reasonable pace. Brushing off the notion that pride is somehow able to be swallowed in favor of punctuality, we embark with the young man already behind schedule.  
It is John Cameron's first day on the job, having been sent to conduct a preliminary inspection on behalf  of the PBC. The broadcasting company has acquired a lease on the Eiffel Tower ballroom, from which they will claim to produce radio programs. Think of it as a rendering farm for ratings, with the perfect combo of cheap production and iconic location.  
"Live from the Eiffel tower, the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation brings you...the evening news! This afternoon's rugby match! A variety show for children! The latest escapades of Sherlock Holmes, voiced entirely by one polar bear!"  
Anything and everything to catch a listener's attention would be constantly broadcast across the local area, possibly across the world if the phenomenon took hold. A switchboard overflowing with voices, all talking at once. John winces just thinking about it.  
It was an obvious gimmick and he knew just as well as the President that it would just be a flash in the pan. If listeners didn't see through the facade in a heartbeat, they'd certainly see through it after the seventeenth show was supposedly "broadcast" from the Eiffel Tower. Really, it was spacious, but even ten broadcasts was a stretch.  
Of course, that's what John is here for. He's the clever young scapegoat assigned to the project. Not exactly his first choice, but beggars can't be choosers and John is nearing his expiration date, as far as the President is concerned.  
And here he is at last, horribly out of breath but present only in a literal sense.  
Clambering over the barrier rope with ease, John scans the cordoned area where the crew should have been assembled. No one is there. He feels something like a laugh in the back of his throat, of course they aren't here, why would they be here?  
"Allo, ey, you! Ova zher!"  
John turns at the call of a rather irritated woman half-jogging across the empty space beneath the tower. John crosses, then uncrosses his arms in an attempt to make himself appear more imposing. He settles for leaning gingerly against the open elevator cage.  
"Miss, if you're looking for the crew --"  
"I am ze crew."  
John lets out a soft 'Oh," perturbed but not surprised. This woman is half his height and twice as ripped.  
"If you don't mind, we ah waiting on a man from ze Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. 'E is very late and --"  
"I'm not that late, surely." John interrupts with a light chuckle. The woman blinks.  
"Oh, I see, you ah trying to be funny!" The woman lets out an abrupt laugh, no sooner escaped than silenced, "Tell me, Mr Broadcasting Man, will ze cost of our overtime be coming out of **your** paycheck?"  
John's smile becomes strained, frozen in place.  
"Ah, well, you see, Miss...?"  
"Leticia Saltier. Pierre, my assistant, 'e is already upstairs assembling ze soundstage. It is a two-man job but, alas, I 'ad to wait for a very inconsiderate 'ost who decided 'is morning coffee was probably worth more zan ze job of two small-time contractors, no?"  
"No, that's not quite it..." John frowned as Leticia called the elevator. The car shrieked along the unoiled rails as it came rattling down to rest at ground level. John eyed it suspiciously.  
"Ach, boo-hoo, it shakes a bit. You and your stuffy office friends are too nervous to be of any use out 'ere." Leticia had a way of speaking that made it difficult for John to formulate a response as she ushered him into the metal death trap that passed for an elevator.  
"Do you 'ave any idea 'ow old zis structure is? I would be more worried about ze Towah falling ova zan ze elevator."  
The car rose up and up and up, and John swallowed around a sudden dryness in his throat, bracing himself against the right corner of the car, eyes shut tight and head tilted to the ceiling.  
"Don't tell me you ah afraid of 'eights."  
John shook his head but Leticia knew better.  
"Well, Mr Broadcast Man, you certainly picked ze wrong show to 'ost." Leticia tutted as the car stopped shaking, "We're 'ere."  
John's eyes snapped open at her statement, panic seeping into his bones as he finally remembered how to speak.  
"I'm sorry, Ms Saltier? Ms Saltier! Did you just say **host**?" John trails after Leticia like a lost pup, eyes wide. Leticia does not stop, merely calling over her shoulder as she opens the elevator door and crosses the Grand Ballroom to a young man taller than John (disconcerting, to say the least John had always been the tallest, clocking in at 5'11 and 1/2 inches. He makes a mental note to invest in some platform boots).  
"You ah ze 'ost, no? Ze President called a few hours ago, and 'e says, _Ms. Saltier, I am sending ova ze new 'ost zis morning. Zis will be 'is first time and 'e will try to get out of it but ze paperwork is already finalized so don't let 'im fool you_!"  
John's face fell slack upon hearing the news. Host? Host!? He knew what the word meant, he knew what all those words meant -- President, paperwork, host, finalized, fool -- but stringing them together simply yielded a dial tone in his mind.  
~~Our apologies, John can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message, he'll get back to you after he's been fired.~~

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I remade, so check my profile for updated links. 
> 
> I'm pretty happy leaving it here but if y'all want more just hit me up!  
> Headcanons/suggestions welcome in the comments or over @tombstonescreak [don't think I ever gave out my tumblr on here. Oops. Now u gots it]


End file.
